Wednesday, 16 July 2014

I should really be asleep. So this will be a short one, about just how much I'm trying to stretch myself! As I explained in the last post, I seem to do nothing in moderation. Which is why when I do have a zest for life I have to go and try and catch up with a zillion things at once, making it virtually impossible to honestly 'catch up' properly on any of them. Which is probably why my blog doesn't get updated as much as it used to. Because I am trying to juggle writing a convincing novel with which I intend to amaze publishers enough to get a contract (I do not believe in self-publishing which is like saying you will always manage to get your story published, even if it does turn out to be rubbish and I want no rubbish but something a publishing house will be ready to go through the trouble for. I want perfection in fact.) whilst also trying to keep up with my small 'business' of making unique decorative votive candle holders, despite the fact that I panic wherever I have an order with a deadline. All this whilst trying to make an effort at keeping our home clean and tidy, or cleaner and tidier than it was turning out to be of late. Meanwhile I really must start on another project... The put-off-for-so-long Happiness Project from Gretchen Rubin's idea and book which I know would help me set down rules like 'Sleep enough' that I don't seem to comply with unless there are actually rules I need to be following. Whilst asking you to excuse me for the jumble of words, better referred to as train of thought I think, that is this entry, I leave you now to go to sleep, only 45 minutes later than my initial plan. Good night and take care to all.

Thursday, 10 July 2014

Only a few days ago I posted a status on Facebook that is as honest and truthful as I can get. I was expecting at least one comment from one of my best friends, who knows me well enough to know what I was referring to. But nothing, no comment, not a single 'like'. Geez, seems like people care more about jokes and the general banter that goes on when you post an inside joke. I get quite a few comments on such posts.

But back to my heartfelt status, it read exactly like this, "I do nothing in moderation." Which probably explains the why of today's post topic. I have, in fact, bought another two books. It is not a case of me being out of control with book-buying but with me coveting and yearning for always more stuff (not necessarily books, even DVDs etc) by certain authors/scriptwriters/actors/whatever else inspires me. And so I have added to my collection (this time unfortunately second-hand choices for money reasons) the following:

The book by Nick Hornby... one very thick paperback with both his most-famous stories inside (I say stories not novels because in an intro to the author they only refer to one of the two as such, I am still to understand what the other one could be called unless it is also a novel!) The two masterpieces in question are High Fidelity and Fever Pitch. Despite almost-hating his book How To Be Good I admit to loving About A Boy so much I am up for giving him another go.

My other purchase is a hardbound volume of Richard Curtis' three very famous scripts... Notting Hill, Four Weddings and a Funeral and Love Actually. Apparently the Love Actually script is the original one from before they started hacking pieces off in order to get it down to the 2 hour vision limit. This volume, to me a bible of its type, is aptly called Six Weddings and Two Funerals, adding up all the weddings and funerals in the scripts.

I would have very much liked to post pics of my new purchases but since I started using the IPad for blogging (due to a technical fault with my personal computer being related it seems more with my lack of luck with such systems than the particular machine) I have found that I upload photos only to find a blank box with a small X in the corner come up the next time I visit or anyone else loads my blog. So I leave you for today hoping this was an interesting and informative read.

Thursday, 3 July 2014

I have to firstly excuse myself for this title, which I couldn't resist posting. Is it a good joke or a weak one? You can tell me after you've read through this entry, which is a review (or two) in disguise.

I found Nick Hornby's How To Be Good at the library and having enjoyed reading About A Boy to an uncool degree (must admit this phrase I copied off one of my inspirational people), I couldn't wait to take the book home to read. After all, Hornby's writing is not that complex or heavy reading despite the fact that I am sure each single word in his books has been written and re-written and changed and tossed here and there till it gives the impression of perfect coincidence but is merely a brilliant writer doing his job well.

So I have to say I was a little disappointed when I got to the end of this book and had yet to be lured into loving the characters. Unfortunately I would have to class this book as 'Too much trouble to getting nowhere'. The insight into the main character's mind is good, that is to say I do believe it to be not only realistic but sometimes also something one can relate to. I also believe that Hornby's intention with this novel, same as with About A Boy, was to present character development rather than to provide the reader with a story and an ending. In which case he got the message across loud and clear. But it did seem to me as I read through that something was going to happen, which never did. It left me hanging on from page to page, waiting, and waiting, and reading on just in case. Because let's fact it, it is very interesting to read what Hornby has to say about a person, but his characters in this book could have done so much more, been so much more, and gotten something other than 'It's going to be ok' in the end.

Which brings me to a lovely film I've seen this week and which also shows that it is going to be ok in the end (though it apparently isn't as I got to know through history research following the viewing) . I am talking about an oldish film, Impromptu (1991) starring none other than my dishy Hugh Grant. But this time he takes on the role of Chopin in an interpretation of a character who would be offended at the word 'dishy'.

Despite not being a romantic comedy, which is the genre that most people associate with Hugh (probably because it is those films that he is best known for), he gives a brilliant interpretation of the very reserved Chopin, a famous historical person who I must admit I had never before bothered looking up. But following the film, I was too curious about the accuracy of the film as well as the accuracy of the acting. So google Chopin I did, to find a string of adjectives about his character that I realized had been embodied to perfection by the blue-eyed Hugh, the eye colour being one of the physical attributes of Grant's portrayal that was inaccurate, given that Frederick Chopin's eyes had, in fact, been brown.

Same goes for the nose. Chopin's was a big nose of which he was conscious in his over-sensitivity to all around him whilst Hugh's is a smallish nose that does not get in the way and quite suits his delicately male features. I would, before becoming so studious about film-making and writing, have found this lack of physical resemblance a disappointment and a lack of accuracy, but I can see now that it is not the facial features but the mannerisms and interpretation of a character that can make or break the story and in this case I have nothing but praise for the thirty-year-old Hugh Grant that honestly has nothing to do with being so smitten by him as that he yet again pulled off a character to perfection. For in this film it seems to me that the characters of Chopin and George Sands are what define the film's very nature and story.

I have been blabbing about Chopin for half the entry and yet I see now that I am still to give an outline of the film. Judy Davis plays George Sands, a woman writer who feels more comfortable in male attire but despite her string of lovers gets so smitten by the foppish Chopin for his angelic music that she is willing to do anything to win his love, even if it means becoming more feminine. Meanwhile, a 'friend' is looking to steal him away, an ex-lover vows to kill whoever she is in love with and the so-desired man himself seems too enshrouded in his private world to chance letting anyone into his life, least of all the too-forward George Sands.

About Me

I'm a thirty-three-year-old working mother who dreams big dreams of various kinds. I'd love to live in Central London, mingle with the wittiest English personalities and make my living from writing. However I have to say I live on the island of Malta, have an office job and mingle mostly with loads of washing and dirty dishes in the sink.